UnRejected
by Ammom
Summary: Takes place in real life, about three years after FFVII's game release. A mysterious cult believes that Seth is the real life Sephiroth, sent to guide them. Though he disblieves it, things that happened in the game, start happening to him...
1. Clone

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Clone

* * *

**

The arousal of low voices that echoed past him, and stolen glances fed Seth's irritation. Keeping clenched fists firmly in his trench coat fore-pockets, he tried to knock away the comments with a struggling smile.

Words such as 'wanna-be', 'obsession', and 'freak' caught the man's breath in his throat. Despite the fact that he'd endured similar harassment for almost three years now, Seth could never get used to it. He knew it shouldn't bother him. At least he could pretend not to hear them over the din of the crowd.

The main streets of New York were always cluttered with people, most busily talking on cellphones as they strode purposely with eyes fixated on the ground. Seth usually had to step aside to avoid a collision. He didn't like to draw attention to himself more than usual. How they could walk with eyes on the ground and not get into frequent collisions was a mystery to the man.

_I should just cut it off_, Seth thought suddenly, walking with ducked head and hunched shoulders. He had promised to not let it bother him, but there were only so many comments he could take.

Seth's long, gray hair, reaching just inches above the ground, and swerved with his step; often catching people in the face or on the side. But as he considered cutting it, Seth sighed. He loved his long hair. It felt nice against his neck and back, especially when water ran through it. It hung like a drape around him, and somehow brought the man comfort.

_So what if it's like this, _Seth told himself firmly, stepping lightly around a couple holding hands, standing hazily in the middle of the sidewalk. Stepping back into his long stride, he added, _After all, I had my hair like this longer before that stupid game came out. It feels more like _they _copied of _me.

This thought made Seth chuckle dryly to himself. Ever since the release of Final Fantasy VII, a popular Playstation video game adding to the colossal RPG series, Seth had been claimed a 'Sephiroth-wanna-be'. Despite his efforts to explain to his friends that his hair was like this long before the game was released, they seemed to doubt him.

_No real surprise there_, he thought with a grimace, nearly colliding with a man on a cellphone. The man threw some angry words his way before striding on with a dark look and a muttered comment about people not looking where they were going.

Seth paused to watch the retreating back. He could easily gaze over the waves of heads, being over six feet tall. _Being tall _does _has its disadvantages_, he thought almost comically, allowing himself a wide smile.

Turning, he strode up the slope, and lifted his gaze to the looming buildings. New York sky was often clouded with factory smoke, but today a vivid blue had managed to break through, and even the sun peaked up sheepishly. Cars flew by, and honks greeted people on the street. Seth braced himself as a Ford sped past, whipping back his hair. He tried to push the long strands down, but not in time.

Suddenly a teen boy, complete with baggy pants and shirt, though it was winter, and chains, turned around, saying angrily, "Yo, what was that?"

Sizing Seth up and down, the boy, roughly fifteen, tapped his two friends on the shoulders, adding, "Hey, get a-load of this."

_Here it comes, _Seth thought, secretly rolling his eyes.

Nodding at the stranger, the boy added haughtily, "Looks like we got a fan."

Most of the crowd continued on. Since it was only noon, there weren't many kids around. It wasn't like many adults played video games. They claimed that they just rotted their children's minds, and there were better things to waste their time with.

_Well, maybe not _quite _that, _Seth thought, sweeping over his teeth with his tongue. After all, what else did _he_ do? Seth didn't work often, just on the weekends. In fact, he spent most of his days wondering the streets since he didn't have the car.

Seth's friends were always saying he should get up and do something with his life. Get a car, a decent job and apartment, and something more than a low-down life. But Seth _liked _his lowdown life. At least it wasn't filled with complications and commitment and bills.

An arrogant voice brought him back, making Seth blink at the words. A slightly younger boy standing behind the first grinned foolishly at him. He had a long nose with a single pimple at the end that made Seth's eyes keep drifting back to him. "Just another one of those dress-up obsessesors," he commented snottily, in a thick absent so fake Seth nearly gagged at its sound.

Noting the drawn back, disgusted look on the man's face, the third, hardly brushing four-seven, demanded angrily, "What? You think we don't know your type?"

Giving an inclination of his head, smile broadening on one side, Seth told him intriguingly, "You should respect your elders, boy."

Swinging his arms before him, the first boy told him firmly, "You ain't no elder of mine. You're just another one of those adults with no lives, thinking you're all cool cause you dress up like some stupid character."

_Maybe you're right, _Seth thought. _Maybe I am. Maybe that's why I secretly haven't cut my hair, because I want to be someone besides who I am. _

"Think what you want," Seth finally told them, and turning, began climbing up the hill again. The smile remained plastered to his face, as he hunched his shoulders against the wind's bitter touch.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" came the thick accent.

"We're not done with you!" squealed the smallest.

"Best watch yourselves in the future boy," Seth told them, waving a hand over his head.

The three boys watched the retreating form unsurely. To them, he didn't seem like just some crazed fan. There was something else there. But then they blew it off, and returned to their own business.

From around a stack of crates, a cloaked youth with a scarf pulled up over his mouth, watched Seth's disappearing back as well. A hint of greed and want gleamed in his crystal blue eyes.

-

* * *

**Author's Note: **If you like this fanfic, and are interested, I have unique forums dedicated to fanfictions for _Final Fantasy_. Check the beginning of my profile for the link. 


	2. Burning

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Burning**

* * *

The shelter of his house sent a warming sensation through Seth, defrosting his cold limbs. Slipping off his brown, leather gloves, he peered around the small living room with white, peeling walls, and cluttered furniture. An old, lump couch rested in the middle of the room, facing the left wall where a small TV was positioned on a rickety stand. Up against stacks of boxes at the far wall, a love seat was tilted towards it as well. Boxes piled up in the living room, with various books, comics, and magazines lay carelessly amongst or on top of them. 

Stripping out of his fur trench coat, Seth slipped it on the back of a chair as he strode into the kitchen. The cracked, white tiles ran to only to two corners. A couple feet before the sink and dishwasher they stopped short, and were replaced instead with hard, old wood. The cabinets stood resting against the stained, white wallpaper, which peeled around the corners. Some were missing doors or handles, making it an inconvenience.

As Seth peered around his little kitchen with the round table crowded beside a fridge to the side, he smiled slightly. It was a simple life, but he had built it. There were people worse off than him, and at least he got to do things _his _way.

Scrounging around in the fridge for the leftover Hamburger Helper from the other night, Seth took it and slumped over the back of his couch. The footrest was already up, and he landed with a content sigh. Picking up the remote, and turning on the small TV, he plowed into the cold food as Oprah drawled on about marriages. It was amazing the old bag was still on the air with all the crap she fed ignorant watchers.

Scoffing at the thought, Seth hit the remote with his fist, sending it through a few actions before it at last changed the channel. It stopped on the news, and interested by the lifeless body in the corner of the screen, he leaned forward to squint at the wavering picture better.

A female reporter, shoulder length blonde hair blown back with the hints of a storm, narrowed her watery eyes as she said in a crisp, clear voice, "Hey John. I'm standing here at the scene of the _seventh _death of what's being called 'the Cloning'." As she strode further to the side, the body coming fully into view, she added grimly, "It's been concluded that this isn't the act of one person…but many. More news on this when we come back."

Paying no mind to what the anchors had to say, Seth leaned back with a disgruntled sigh, shifting his shoulders against the lump couch cushions. He had been tracking the number of brutal deaths since day one, and for almost two months, there hadn't been another. What Seth always noticed though, was that - according to the press - the victims were gaming fans, with platinum dyed hair.

"Probably just another wanna-be thing," the man snorted, finishing the rest of his cold Hamburger Helper with a resound belch. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Seth rubbed his flat stomach lovingly before pushing himself up with a grunt.

The situation didn't involve him. Seth's line of investigation and police work was long over now. It had been three years since he quit the force, and though money was tight as a video game tester, Seth's passion stopped him from getting - what his mother called - a _'real job'_.

Pushing himself up with a grunt, couch creaking in the release of his weight, Seth laid the bowl down on the kitchen counter beside other unclean dishes. Noting the mess for a moment, he continued to ignore it entirely as he made his way down the hall to the small room and unmade bed awaiting him.

Shimmying his way into the knot of blankets and comforters, Seth plumping his pillow beneath his head, and closed his eyes to certain sleep. At least, in his dreams he was secure from the world's protests and disdain.

However, with sleep there is never the certainty that worries won't follow. Next thing Seth knew, he was standing in the blaze of a burning town, eyes watering as ash and smoke filtered the air. A distinct smell of rotting flesh turned his stomach, and the man bent double as painful pulses through his head shot images of things he didn't understand. Seth could see a vague figure sweep off with turn of his shirttails – leaving behind a wall of fire that consumed the land. He watched it run along the street and up the driveways to the lined houses.

Despite his desperate attempts to cry out, to warn the people inside – nothing happened. No one came running out of the homes. It was almost as if they slept in their beds, awaiting certain doom. Was that what these images meant? That doom was inevitable?

Perspiration lined Seth's brightly illumined features as heat consumed his breathing and lulled his thoughts. The world spun in a rush of orange, red, and gray before him. The land was no longer smooth and paved, but broken and torn up in rifts. Muffled crying could be heard, and pushing himself to his feet, Seth stumbled in search of it.

The man only got a few feet before he fell to his knees. Staring at the melting tar beneath him – shaking from head to toe – Seth watched the steady stretch of a moving shadow draw near. When the soft, leather boots hesitated before him, the weakened man lifted a hazy gaze to meet a pair of flashing green eyes in a sea of dark.

The last thing Seth understood before he fell to the ground helpless, was the man's silent words: "Puppet I am, no more."


	3. Nightly Intruder

**CHAPTER THREE  
**

**Nightly Intruder**

* * *

Some people achieve a reputation through work and success – others through pure heritage. A last name can ruin a man, because of his predecessors. The distinction is a choice of the matter. Even those looking to make a name for themselves will hide when the going gets rough. 

For a while, that's what investigators believed when it came to 'the Cloning' murders – that it was to make a name for the rising popular Final Fantasy VII video game. The head in chief of the investigation, officer Karse, regarded this case with the utmost distaste. His own children were game fans, and their absolute obsession and reaction to the violence, curled a loathing in him. However, the boys' mother said to let them have their fun, and that it was only a game after all – none of it was real.

It was cases like 'the Cloning' though that proved to him that video games were no good, and Karse reminded himself to point this out to his Marianne. Pushing himself up from his cushioned, rolling chair at his wooden desk, Karse picked up his coat and briefcase. He had closed this case a month ago – a month after the attacks stopped. There were a few complaints about it, but the killings were done with no traces and no real leads to go by.

"And now here we go again," Officer Karse grumbled to himself, slamming down a thick folder on the victim reports on his desk. "Back to phase one."

Sighing and deciding to leave the case where it was for the night, Karse stared down at the large, black print on the folder, reading _'Platinum Strike'_. While in the midst of an important phone call, he'd received a mysterious anonymous letter. The secretary said it was in his mailbox, but there was no address. The top of it had only read _Karse_.

Used to getting hate mail, Karse had disregarded it completely – but as it came to mind again, he began to wonder. Torn between heading out the door and picking up the file again, Karse finally gave in to the latter – convincing himself that at this late hour, another minute or two meant nothing. Marianne often complained that he spent more time at the station then anywhere else. As a seasoned officer, Karse knew this was true, but they were running tight on money – and not wanting his family to worry – he was forced to work late each night.

Sitting back down with a contempt sigh, turning the light at his desk back on – Karse flipped open the file cover impatiently. Sure enough, there was the unmarked and cut out lettered labeled envelope. A shiver ran through Karse and a sudden clank made him look up sharply. A window stood ajar, swinging back and forth, as the wind blew it hard against the side of the brick building.

Taking a deep, calming breath – fearful that the glass would break at this rate – Karse rose from his seat. Heading through the lanes of desks towards the window, he reached out into the night air to grab the handle. About to pull the shutter towards him, he froze suddenly at the sight of a dark figure standing on the others side of the street – looking straight at him.

_No_, Karse told himself. _He's just waiting for someone_.

Who would be waiting at this time of night? Maybe the man _was _looking at Karse. Was he waiting for him? Heart pumping against his chest, the officer shook his head and quickly closed the window.

Hurrying back to his desk – closing the file and taking up his coat and briefcase again – the man reached a hand towards the pull string on his lamp. Suddenly it went out, and blinking in confusion, he stared at it a moment longer before slowing pulling his arm away.

Telling himself it was just the oncoming storm the weather station had predicted, Karse tried to ease his pulsing heart. He was getting old – he couldn't afford to overreact like this. Pulling on his coat, and fixing the collar, the man jumped at an echoing crash. Peering around his desk, he saw that one of the file cabinets lay on its side – folders and papers spilled out across the hard, stone floor.

_Just too many stacked up on one another_, Karse convinced himself with an unsure nod. Sticking 'the Cloning' file into his briefcase and closing it with a distinguishing snap, the officer tucked it under his arm. Moving quickly around his desk down the aisle, he released a groan as he bumped his hip on the wooden edge. Ignoring the jutting pain in his leg, Karse strode quickly towards the narrow hallway that would take him into the lobby. Once he was outside, he would feel better.

Half believing the notion, the man was practically running when he entered the dimness of the corridor and stepped onto the red carpet. The soft sound of his footsteps vibrated against the walls, making it magnify. Turning sharply, Karse peered back into the shadows of the office, but saw nothing except still, undistinguished forms.

Lightning flashed through the lobby windows and into the hallway – illumining the corresponding room. Seeing there was nothing there but old desks and beat-up chairs, Karse released a heavy breath. Slumping his shoulders, he walked at a slower pace towards the open area ahead. He knew exactly what he would do when he got home – he would eat the cold dinner laid out for him, check on his children, and then go upstairs and apologize properly to his wife for neglecting her all week. The late December holidays were upon them, bringing a cause for Champaign and a babysitter as New Year drew closer.

Making a note to buy some flowers at a convenience store as he pulled out his keys, Karse strode across the lobby towards the doublewide, glass doors standing quietly before the stoop. Reaching them, he was about to enter the night air when another flash of lightning illumined the street, and he caught eye of the stranger again. This time, he could make the man out better, and Karse knew that he _was _looking at him.

The man stood in a puffy, dark furred coat with his hands in the large pockets and a beanie hat over his head – staring straight ahead at the large, wide steps leading up to the New York police station. Stepping back carefully, the man watched the stranger cautiously. The mysterious man made no move to cross the quiet and empty street. The streetlight beside him suddenly went out, and swallowing hard, Karse bolted towards the front desk.

Hands fumbling in his panic, mind racing with thoughts of what could happen, he attempted to dial the chief of police's number. It took him a couple moments to realize that the phone wasn't ringing. Hitting the hang-up button, he listened and got no dial tone in turn.

Cursing himself for not having a cellphone as he slammed the receiver down, Karse glanced back towards the doors. Running to them, he peered out at the completely empty street now. Hesitant where he stood, the man didn't know what to do. Should he stay inside until the security guard showed up? Or should he make a run for his car and get out of there?

Panic overcoming him, Officer Karse hurriedly locked the doors, setting the alarm. Stepping back hesitantly – unsure of where to go, he headed back towards the office. If he stayed in the back, then the strange man wouldn't be able to see him. Maybe he would give up and go away.

The hope fluttered and died as Karse slowed in the aisle between the gathered desks. His chair appeared lumpier then it had before, and stopping a few feet away, his heart leapt into his throat. A flash of lightning illumined the fur-clad man, and Karse could make out the sharp look in his eyes.

A smirk spread across his face, the stranger rolled the chair with a squeak back and forth distractedly. The sound vibrated off the empty halls – drowned out as a crash above gave way to a hard downpour of rain. The window to the side banged against the building harshly, making Karse wince.

"W-Who are you?" the man managed around a loud, thick swallow. "H-How'd you get in here?" Hand going slowly and instinctively for the gun at his side, Karse kept his eyes locked with the intruder.

The man, appearing in his twenties by the little moonlight coming through the windows – eyed Karse's moving hand. Immediately, the cop froze, licking his lips in anxiety. How did this man get in here? Through the window?

As Karse's eyes darted towards the slamming back and forth shutter, the stranger glanced over at it too. There was a solemn expression on his face, and a malicious look in his gaze that experienced officer recognized. Turning back to the aging man with a ready grin, the stranger began fiddling with a pencil on the desk.

Swerving lightly back and forth in the chair as he gazed leisurely at the utensil spinning on its led tip, the man said with a lick of his lips, "You know, Officer Karse…I've been tracing your work, and I must say…" He paused, glancing up with a knowing smile as lighting illumined his fair features. Hand still turning the pencil in the gloominess, the intruder continued, "I'm surprised they let someone as incompetent as you handle this case."

Anger starting to overcome fear at this man's certain cockiness, the officer said firmly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Raising an eyebrow at him, the stranger paused in his fixture, looking up, "Ohh? Then tell me why you stayed late all week here, instead of returning to that deprived wife of yours."

Snapping at this comment, Karse slammed his hands down forcefully on the desk before the stranger, commanding, "What do you know?!"

Inclining his head to the side, the stranger told him with a confidant smirk to the rhetorical question, "Plenty." Patting Karse's cheek and uncrossing his legs to get out of the chair, he added, "But that can wait."

As the young man rose to his feet, Karse suddenly took out his gun – pointing it straight at the intruder's head. At this, the stranger paused in mid crouch, but his easy-going smirk remained.

"I-I'll shoot," Karse warned him, bottom lip trembling in his silent rage. Deep in his bones, he was afraid. There was something particularly unnerving about this man's coolness. Even with a loaded gun pointed at him, the young man remained confident and sure of himself.

"Go ahead," the stranger dared casually. Straightening now, he turned towards Karse, and holding his arms out to either side, invited, "Shoot me." When Karse did nothing more but stand there, finger on the trigger, the intruder stepped forward. Crouching, he pressed his forehead to the barrel.

After another minute passed, he just shook his head and straightened. On instinct, Karse pulled on the trigger only to find it lock up. Giving a humorous chuckle, the man rested his hand on the length of the gun, gently pushing it downwards. Stepping beside the quivering officer, he whispered in a demeanor, taunting voice, "Watch yourself."

Stepping away, letting his hand slide over the gun's safety, the man strode away. A sudden blast shot Karse a foot in the air as the trigger pulled back in his shaking hands and the gun went off. An uprising cackle rang the room, and the officer turned sharply, but the intruder was gone. 


	4. A Murderer's Obsession

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**A Murderer's Obsession**

* * *

The day dawned slowly, and the sun shone bright against the glistening wonderland that had accumulated over night. A four-inch layer of snow was placed heavily on the roofs of New York, and a pleasant ring from the city's clock tower to announce ten a.m., sent harmony through the quiet morning air. 

It was as the clock tower rang ten that the ringing of his doorbell – followed by abrupt, impatient knocking – awoke a disoriented Seth. Grumbling, he shoved his face back into his pillow, but as the knocking turned into slamming, he pushed himself up reluctantly. Tossing off his bed covers, and placing bare toes onto the old, molted carpet, Seth headed into the hallway and to the front door of his apartment, calling out irritably, "I'm coming, hold on!"

Thrusting open the wooden frame, the youth blinked rapidly in the bright sunlight. Seeing an aging man, hairline receding slightly with a two-day-old beard growing unevenly over his hard features, Seth relaxed and leaned against the door for support, muttering, "This better be good, Karse."

Pushing past the sleepy-headed youth, cold hands cuffed in the pockets of his large, puffed jacket, Karse told Seth hurriedly, "Yes, well, I know how you like to sleep late, but Seth, I really need to—"

The officer cut off as Seth let the door close, and walked past him without a glance. Growing impatient by his host's inattentive manner, Karse tried to push his anger down. He knew that Seth wasn't a morning person, which is part of the reason that he had had troubles with his job as an investigator.

Clearing his throat to remind his old partner he was still there, Karse followed Seth into the untidy, tiny kitchen. Stopping at the table, the man gave a curl of his nose at the rising smell of old food, but kept his disapproving statements to himself. Taking his still icy hands from his pockets, he pulled out one of the plastic chairs at the lopsided, wooden table, and sat down promptly.

A minute later, Seth came back to towards his guest, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. Placing one down in front of Karse before taking his own seat, the dull man muttered, "Eight sugars, there you go." Eyeing the way Karse's hands were shaking, over the brim of his black coffee, Seth noted around his drink, "Not that you apparently need it."

Glancing down at his trembling hands, Karse cleared his throat, saying hesitantly, "No Seth, that is long in the past. Ever since my wife and I went to therapy…"

Taking the mug away from his mouth, and leaning back heavily in his chair, Seth set it down on the table softly, muttering, "Save your excuses for Marianne, Karse."

At this, the middle-aged man's lips strained, but he kept his mouth shut. After another long minute, the officer decided to redirect the conversation, saying slowly, "I'm not here on pleasure, Seth."

Nodding his head, gazing distantly as he turned his cup slowly this way and that, the youth replied, "No one ever is."

Ignoring the comment all together, Karse carried on, coffee in both hands now in a steel grip, "I want to talk to you about your last case…about the Cloning, it—"

"Don't bother," Seth muttered with a sharp look to his old partner. Karse closed his mouth firmly under the youth's piercing gaze. Seth may have turned into a slacker, but his eyes could still burn holes through a man's head. "I handed over all the information I had, Karse. I know nothing more than you."

Setting his chipped cup to the side, Karse leaned forward with arms folded over one another, saying seriously, "Seth, look. There must be _something_ you haven't told me. I mean, all these victims, they…" His eyes darted to the youth's hair, but at the furrowed look Seth gave him, Karse cleared his throat and straightened in the uncomfortable seat. Swallowing, he added quietly, "I got a visitor last night, Seth – about the Cloning case."

At this, the man sat slowly up, eyes searching Karse's expectantly. Karse was known to feed false information to clients to try to get them to spill whatever information they were withholding. However, this time, there was a sense of fear in Karse's voice as he went over the details of the previous night's events.

When he finished, all Seth could do was sit back with a shake of his head in disbelief. Maybe someone was taking the killings more seriously then they thought. Karse was obviously shaken by the encounter, and now he was sitting in Seth's cold kitchen, trembling so hard that he had to swallow several times to maintain control.

"W-What do you m-make of it?"

Sighing, and running a thumb over the handle of his empty coffee cup, Seth raised his eyes to Karse. Pushing himself to his feet with a small shake of his head, he told the officer, "It's not my job anymore to figure this out."

Turning towards the countertop, mug in hand, Seth froze in step as Karse called out suddenly, "Seth, I need your help." Scrambling to his feet, sending the plastic chair back against the cracked tiles with a crash, the man told his old friend more calmly, "I'm not even sure where to look, or to go from here…"

With a tired sigh, Seth slumped his shoulders. Closing his eyes, fighting back his irritation, he gave in. Turning around, placing the mug on the counter, and resting his hands against it, he met Karse's urgent gaze, saying with a grimace, "All right, I'll help." At the relieved look the man gave him, the youth rolled his eyes, adding as Karse opened his mouth, "Just let me get my jacket and shoes. You can thank me later."

Disappearing around the counter and into the hallway, Seth strode into his room. Karse felt relieved with his old partner back, and stood patiently with hands back in his fur-lined, leather jacket pockets. He didn't have to wait long.

A minute later, Seth came back down the hall, pulling on his long, black leather trench coat – and straightening the collar – headed for the door, saying, "All right, let's get going then." The youth paused when Karse didn't move, and looking back, hands frozen on the collar's hems, he asked sharply, "What?"

Eyeing the man, Karse said skeptically, "Are you _really _going to wear that?"

Giving him a hard look, and dropping his arms, Seth told him firmly, "You know, I don't _have _to help you. I could just—"

Holding up his hands in defeat and striding towards the door, Karse interrupted, "All right, all right. Wear whatever you want."

Stepping aside, watching the shorter man pass through the open doorway, Seth told him with a hard look, "Damn right I wear whatever I want. Now get your ass moving," he finished, pulling the door closed with a slam.

-

* * *

-

Two hours later showed the streets of New York alive with the busy social life of its citizens. Loud rings from the crosswalks and car horns rang the air – filling the quiet that had over taken the now muddied Winter Wonderland.

On the lane curb along Main Street, a Styrofoam cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand, Seth stood with Karse impatiently at his side. Eyeing the street as he raised the steaming cup to his mouth, the youth paid his partner no mind. Glancing up as the walk sign turned to a bright, yellow man in mid-stride, Seth stepped out between the white lines stretching ahead to the other walkway.

People shuffled past the two leisure-walking men, and halfway across, Karse couldn't help but question, "Seth, what are we doing? Where are we going?"

Lowering his arm to his side without looking at his companion, Seth replied, "To the last crime scene of course." Reaching the curb, Karse froze with hands in his pockets. Realizing that the man had stopped, Seth turned to him expectantly, prompting with raised eyebrows and spread arms, "What now?"

"That area is off-limits."

Giving a snort at this, Seth strode back to him, ignoring a quick moving woman's protests, saying quietly as he drew level, "Karse, you know as well as I that investigators often overlook factors. Just trust me."

Mouth straining, clearly debating between better judgment and his experience with his partner's familiar ways, Karse remained quiet. Clapping his companion on the shoulder with a reassuring smile, Seth headed down the bustling sidewalk without waiting for a reply. After a moment, Karse hurried to catch up.

Another four blocks brought the two into the back streets of the old, broken down factory building where the last murder had taken place. The area was marked off with bright, yellow police tape. A warning sign was displayed, saying that trespassers would be prosecuted. Karse was staring at the sign when Seth pulled the tape over his head, and ducked into the area.

The officer gave his companion a wry look, but with a sigh, he followed slowly. Hesitantly stepping into the tar parking lot, he gazed around at the dirtied and trashed area. There was a chalk outline and orange pegs where the body had been found. He couldn't understand what else to search for here.

The file reported that the victim – just like the previous six – had suffered from a deep pierce through the chest. Death was almost instant, but the weapon used for the murders hadn't been found yet, and the places where the bodies were always discovered, were discreet. Every body had been moved into a public area, and _still _no one ever saw anything. Karse found it overly suspicious, and suspected some sort of cover-up, but couldn't prove anything.

Now the officer stood in boredom, gazing distantly around the scene. He glanced up and down the street, but no one paid the pair any mind. Seth was crouched to one side, studying the ground and running his hands gently over some shifted sidewalk chunks. Glancing back over his shoulder in interest, he strode towards the victim's marked area, and lowered his face to the ground with squinted eyes.

Sighing irritably, Karse questioned sharply, "What are you doing? We're wasting our time here, there's nothing—"

"He wasn't dead," Seth announced suddenly without looking up.

At this, Karse cut off, blinking at his companion for several moments before asking seriously, "What do you mean?"

Looking up, rubbing some gravel between his index finger and thumb, Seth told him, "When they brought him here, Steven Gilde wasn't dead yet." Nodding back towards the sidewalk, he added, "He struggled, and they must have knocked him out hard, and dragged him over here." Lifting his fingers to show the small cement chips in his hand, he finished, "A growingly small trail."

Shrugging his shoulders, Karse said, "So the people at the morgue will tell us he suffered head trauma first. So what? How does that help us here?"

Resting his hands on his thighs and pushing himself to his feet, Seth replied, "So what? It means that our murderer is growing impatient, and unbalanced. All the other victims were classified as long since dead before they were moved."

Nodding, Karse noted, "Or they just might want to make a name for themselves – stir up worries again."

Shaking his head slowly, Seth muttered, "I don't think that's what they're doing at all, Karse. I think is something more personal then public." At the confused look his partner gave him, Seth just shook his head with a sigh before adding, "Come on, let's check out the body."

As Seth strode past to pick up his set down coffee, Karse only nodded, muttering, "I should just let you take care of this…"

Ducking back underneath the tape, the youth turned to his old friend, saying, "What? Not interested in the case anymore?"

Crouching under the tape Seth held for him, Karse told him, "I never was. As far as I see it, this is all just some craze taken too far."

Taking a long sip of his coffee, Seth muttered, "Tell the reporters that, and see what the murderer thinks."

The morgue itself was a creepy place. To think that hundreds of bodies were lying in waiting for inspection with their death-white skin and soulless eyes made Karse shudder in thought. Heading down the softly, tarnished hallways reluctantly after his old partner, he tried to keep a professional, serious look. The doctors moving past paid the two little mind. Some greeted Seth with a nod, or a "hello", but none stayed to chat.

Despite his friend's uneasiness, Seth strode confidently with a relaxed smile. He had spent plenty of time around the morgue in the past, and remained unaffected by it now. Having called ahead to request a look at the Cloning victim bodies and a talk with the analyzer, Seth led them down through twisting halls until they stood outside a large room, barred by a steel door.

Turning the thick handle, and pushing with little effort, Seth strode into the white, half empty room. Shelves and tables stacked with utensils, instruments, computers, and equipment stood against the four walls. Seven steel, folding, tables were set two feet apart with the Cloning bodies displayed on them – sheets covering their exposed skin respectively.

A woman stood to one side, typing something on a computer. Pausing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, Seth leaned over to take a glimpse at the displayed lists. Unable to make out the words though, he straightened as the steel door closed firmly behind them and the redheaded woman turned suddenly towards it.

A smile spread across her pretty features, and the woman relaxed before hitting the Escape button on the keyboard, and closing the lists. Clearing her throat, the tall woman strode towards them, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. Drawing level, she came to a prominent pause before the two men.

"You must be the two detectives that called about the bodies."

Smiling at the woman, Seth removed his hand from his pocket, saying good-naturedly, "Well actually—" He cut off with a wince as Karse elbowed him in the ribs.

Turning to the curiously watching woman, Karse flashed his badge, saying, "Yes, we are." Tucking it back into the front of his jacket, he continued, "We were hoping to get a more detailed report on the victims' deaths for our investigation."

Nodding and turning towards the tables, the woman said promptly, "Why, yes, of course. Anything to help stop this monstrosity."

Seth and Karse exchanged raised eyebrows at this, and the aging officer addressed the woman, repeating curiously, "_Monstrosity?_"

Turning before the closest table on the other side, the woman raised her gaze, and at the looks the two men were giving her, she replied, "Well, _all _murders are cruel, but these people suffered unimaginable pains."

As the two stepped forward, Seth asked politely, "Care to elaborate?"

Nodding her head with a grim look, the analyzer told the pair, "All wounds were inflicted through the chest…" She gestured towards the body she stood before, and passing a hand in the air over the large, crude hole in the lean man's chest, she added, "And each wasn't clean or precise. The incision is rough and the wounds are infected – suggesting they were done with a rusted weapon." Lifting her gaze, she finished, "The same type for each by the looks of it."

As his companion nodded grimly, Seth questioned, "Was there anything…_peculiar _about Steve Gilde's body? That was, you know, different from the others?"

Nodding and heading towards the last steel table in the back of the nippy room, she pointed towards the dead man's left temple. Coming around to investigate, Seth swallowed at the hard impact and gash in the young man's head.

"The head wound suggests that he was already dying by the time he was stabbed," the woman told him. Gazing at Seth, she asked worriedly, "Are you all right?"

Gathering his wits, Seth gave a prompt nod, saying quickly, "Yes, thank you." Taking a breath, pausing in thought, he asked, "What sort of weapon would you suggest did the job?"

Shrugging, the analyzer reported, "Hard to say. Something with a very long, and large blade, but nothing I can really identify."

Looking up to meet his partner's eyes, Seth told the waiting officer, "I guess this proves your craze theory." Nodding to the woman, he gave her his thanks before heading out the door.

Confused, Karse quickly followed, and catching up to Seth's quick pace, asked sharply, "What? What do you mean?"

Seth didn't stop and turn to his companion, saying with a dark look on his face now, "Those platinum-dyed guys were all around their teens. The wounds in their chests are sword wounds."

Blinking in surprise as they entered into the afternoon craze, Karse clasped Seth's shoulder, stopping and turning him, as he demanded firmly, "What are you saying? What does that mean?"

Sighing and rubbing a hand over his tired features, Seth relaxed and told Karse with a solemn, but grim tone, "Do you know _why _it was dubbed 'the Cloning'?" At Karse's shake of the head, Seth continued, "It's because they have silver hair, like the main bad guy in Final Fantasy Seven." At the completely baffled, impatient look Karse gave him, Seth growled with a snap, "The _game_, Karse, the game! God, did you even _read _my damn report?"

At the hard look that the officer gave him, Seth just sighed, and said in a more controlled tone, "Look, I don't know about any motive here, but the sword wound in each chest just points towards a fan-crazed murderer."

Heading down the steps and towards the sidewalk, Seth didn't offer any further details. Hesitating before catching up – growing tired of being left behind and left out of the loop – Karse kept pace now, prompting, "So what do you think is happening here?"

Stopping as he stepped onto the cracked and broken cement, Seth gaze out across the street at the passing faces, muttering, "I think it's someone who can't tell the difference between the game and reality. They're thinking that these silver haired guys are Sephiroth clones or something…" At the tense pause, Seth looked to Karse, adding flatly, "The bad guy."

Holding his arms out to either side, Karse asked in a baffled, lost voice, "Then what do we do about it?"

Glancing back at the streets, Seth replied quietly, "We give him Sephiroth." 


	5. Steely Group’s Confrontation

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Steely Group's Confrontation**

* * *

The day brought little promise to the investigation, but Seth found a small, growing satisfaction about being out in the world again. Where he once saw it as corrupt and cold, there was a new feeling of prosper and change. No one commented on his clothes or his long hair. Seth thought it must have been the case of the Cloning murders. Some people whispered as they passed, others crossing their hearts in prayer for his safety. 

Seth gave a chuckle at the citizens' reactions, but Karse found nothing funny about it. At the man's grumbling complaints, Seth gave him a wry smile, and nudging Karse, said good-naturedly, "Ohh, come on. The plan will work."

The officer just gave his partner a hard look before quickening his pace and hurrying with hunched shoulders down the street. Seth came to a slow stop, watching Karse leave, and just shook his head as the short man disappeared from view in the shuffling crowds.

Picking up stride again, Seth headed blindly through the mass of thick coats – lost in thoughts of the Cloning. The murderer was growing unstable, which meant that he could crack soon, and they'd find him.

_Or that he'll take out a lot of people_, Seth noted with a grimace. Muttering an apology as he bumped shoulders with a cloak-clad man, Seth stopped short. After a moment, he turned suddenly and peered at shuffling faces.

Shaking his head, thinking he must be seeing things, the man pulled his coat around him tighter and hurried down the sidewalk. A thin stream of wind billowed his cloak's hems around his feet, and Seth felt as if he were caught in the rapids of a stream. The movement was difficult and slow. The days were becoming as bitter as people's spirits. The frost on the ground had clumped in layers over New York citizens' hearts as well.

Today there was no talk about Seth's long hair, or his blatant clothing. There were no snide comments or harsh undertones. It would have been a relief, if worry wasn't beginning to form in his mind. Seth knew that their plan was foolish, and most likely wouldn't work, but as long as word was spread to the right people, then some answers should be given.

Feet straying to a slow, subtle walk, Seth raised his gaze generally to peer up the steadily climbing slope. The mismatched-height buildings stood as levels of wealth on a bar graph. The gray sky hung forebodingly beyond the dull steel sides. A sudden glint against a corner of a nearby skyscraper made Seth tear his eyes away. Looking along the angle the glare came from, he squinted his eyes from the midst of a shifting, and unaware mass of people.

A lone figure stood at the top of an older, brick building with their foot pressed against the side. The stranger stood directly in the sun's rays, blinding Seth from recognizing any distinguishable features. A single cone of light emanated from the space in the person's arm where they rested a fist on their hip. The figure stood staring off at the metallic covered windows of the opposite building.

After another moment, the figure turned their gaze slowly to stare down into the shuffling crowds. For a moment, the streets, people, buildings, and distance melted away. They were just two people riveting in the same entrancement, and Seth thought he could make out the familiar shine of the stranger's pupils. Then the world returned, and the connection was lost. Raising an arm to shield his eyes, Seth peered at the building's roof to find it bare and flat.

Grimacing, and pulling his coat around him tighter, Seth shuffled quickly down the street.

-

* * *

-

The Gamer's Store was a little place on a corner of Parker's Avenue. It was a frequently stop spot for Seth, and the owner welcomed him with a warm smile and a wave as the door jingled closed behind him. Basch McGreen paid him no mind as he attended to a pre-teen and his disapproving, impatient mother. The boy ignored the woman's unconcealed huff of irritation and anxiety.

Seth recognized the woman's reaction. Despite video games' growing expansion in the world, they still seemed limited to teenagers and old-school gamers. Adults still saw them as mindless, vicious tools of technology. It made Seth wonder what country would crumple first without computers to back them; the United States or Japan.

Reminding himself to open up a wager to this thought, Seth stuck his hands in his pocket and strode with a leisure smile towards the counter. The boy held his new game to his chest as he gazed up at the towering man, hair sweeping in a waver of silk behind him. The plump woman grasped her son's arm, and started driving him towards the door while muttering irritably.

Seth watched them go for a moment, turning as the Basch's strong voice called to him, "Sign in, Seth." Pausing before the opened book with lined paper, the man did't look up – scrawling an almost illegible signature beneath rows of others – as the storeowner prompted, "So what can I get ya, Seth?"

Turning and blinking at the man's warm, unfamiliar smile, the youth rested an arm on the counter to survey the model daggers in the glass case, saying, "Well, I just thought I'd have a look around."

Nodding, and spreading his arms to rest his palms against the counter's edge, Basch McGreen looked at his old, faithful customer with a solemn expression, saying a bit grimly, "Yeah, well you haven't _been _around of late. What's with that?"

Not even looking up as his eye caught a particularly smooth, polished blade, Seth replied with a small shrug, "You know, been busy. Shit and whatnot."

Pulling a face at the man with a scoff, Basch turned to tilt the perfectly lined boxes of gameplay figures on the shelves, saying, "Yeah, well _shit_ used to be game shit."

Noting the sharpness in his old friend's voice, Seth raised his gaze to the lean, middle-aged man's back, saying with raised eyebrows, "Come now, you know I had that important case."

Sighing, hand resting on top of a Dungeons and Dragon's figurine box, Basch slumped his shoulders, saying in a defeated voice, "Yeah, I know. Things have just been rough lately, ya know? What with the Cloning killings back on the news, people seem to think that this place is the cause of it all."

Brow narrowing at this, Seth asked in a serious, hushed tone, "Say that again?"

The storeowner glanced back at the youth for a long moment before turning. Leaning forward, Basch told the fervent man, "Keep this under wraps, or I'm gonna lose my main crowd, you hear?" At Seth's sure nod, McGreen cast his gaze over the bobbing, erupting heads for eavesdroppers before leaning in closer. The man spoke so quietly; Seth nearly had to bump heads to hear him. "Those seven men killed all came and met up in here individually before. I thought nothing of it; just a little gamer get-together hosted via Internet. Forums or something, ya know? But then they started to come around together, and meet up in the back in the corners where the cameras don't reach so good…"

Tensing at this news, Seth looked thoughtful for a moment, before demanding, "Who were they meeting?"

At this, the storeowner gave an honest shrug and shake of his head, admitting, "I unno. I would come back from the storage room or something, and there would be this cloaked figure just standing there like he was expecting somebody. Ne'er saw his face – covered and all."

Good mood spoiled as a sense of foreboding drifted through him, Seth pushed the image of the man on the skyscraper to the side, as he hissed, "Why didn't you _say _anything?"

Sighing, Basch replied feebly with a grimace, "Cause I couldn't prove anything. One of those silver guys would come in, head to the corner, and walk back out before I got the chance to more then look up. I checked the cameras, and the cloaked guy's always half hidden. And I can't exactly ask him to just leave the store, ya know? There's no reason for him to."

Nodding his head, tensing up now as new factors slid into place, Seth told Basch in a normal, controlled tone, "I see. I wish I had known this sooner, but I suppose it's my own fault for not being around…"

The storeowner just nodded his head, straightening with noticeable stiffness. Basch always had a bad back, and the constant lifted he did every day didn't help it any. However, the man was never known to complain. There were many traits about McGreen that Seth respected and admired, and the man's diligence was one of them.

Resting a hand reassuringly on his aging friend's shoulder, Seth told him with a small smile and serious look, "Don't worry, Basch. I'll get to the bottom of this." Thinking for a moment, he asked slowly, "When was the last time this cloaked guy came in here?"

Giving this thought, tongue sticking out while he pondered over the confusing dates in his head, the man replied unsurely, "I wanna say…three days ago or so. One of those gamer freaks came in the same day." At the look that Seth gave him, Basch shrugged lightly into his friend's hand, saying, "No offense."

Nodding – distracted by filtering thoughts and images again – Seth mumbled, "Yeah, no prob." After another minute, he lowered his arm back to his side, asking suddenly, "Hey, were there any others recently before that meeting? Anyone else that might have come in? Or anyone you knew?"

Tapping a finger to thin lips, Basch strode further down the aisle. Whipping the sign in book around to face him, he stood hunched as he flipped back through the pages. Seth met him on the other side, staring down at the senseless, untidy scrawls on the white, blue-lined paper.

Heading back a couples days' worth of sign-ins, Basch pulled the book around to face Seth, saying, "You're free to look, but I believe that's the day the last guy came in here."

Quickly scanning the opened page, Seth held the red folder up. Squinting his eyes at the scrawled writing, he asked anxiously, "Can I borrow this?" When there was no reply, the youth raised his gaze pleadingly to his old friend.

Basch opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the earnest, drastic look in the man's eyes, he instead waved him off with a turn of his hand. Sighing, he muttered, "Yeah, go ahead. See if I care." Looking at Seth now, he wagged a thick, index finger at him, saying, "But ya gotta buy something at least."

Giving the man a thankful smile, Seth nodded with a small laugh, saying, "All right, all right. Hand me the latest Squaresoft installment then."

-

* * *

-

Emerging onto the dimming cement blocks making up the sidewalk – the lampposts not cued to come on for another hour – Seth tucked the closed binder firmly under his arm as a soft snowfall started. The only lights were the streams whipping past as cars hurried towards their destination. Nobody wanted to be caught on New York streets when the late hour rolled around. The predators of the city searched hard for weak prey, leaving them with their clothes if the muggers were nice.

Deciding to tuck the binder on the inside of his coat instead, Seth hurried with eyes downcast towards the four blocks to his house. He didn't like cars, and had grown accustomed to walking around the city. With the traffic jams and counts of car accidents, it was easier and safer this way at least.

Everyone was always in a hurry to be somewhere else, instead of being happy about where they were. Personally, Seth hated cars, and had refused to step foot in another since an incident one year previous where his only reliable witness to a crime, was killed while Seth himself was driving. Seth's reputation began to drain with his confidence, and soon enough, he left the police force altogether.

_Now here I am_, he thought with a grimace, watching the tips of his boots shifting in and out of view below him. _Every day spent the same way…_

With a shake of his head, the man pushed the thoughts aside and took long, powerful strides up the climbing driveway to the parking lot surrounding the two-story, old apartment buildings. Ignoring the few cars shining lightly in the lamppost's flickering light outside his building, Seth scuffled hurriedly up the metal, black steps and to his door. Reaching out a hand for the knob – never having found a need to lock up – he paused at thump from inside.

Ears pricking at the sound, the man's body tensed as he listened for any other crashes. When only the calls of crickets met his ears, Seth gently grabbed the knob and quietly pushed the door open. Standing halfway outside, and half on the threshold, he poked his head in. The place was quiet and dark. The odd lumps of his couch created a dim mass to one side; his table faintly illumined on the other end.

Stepping through, Seth let the starlight filter into the room, watching his own shadow spread towards the hallway. Standing there for a moment with hand on the light switch, the man let his arm drop. Walking quietly and cautiously towards the hallway, Seth reached for the pistol he carried on the inside of coat. Old habits seldom die.

The apartment remained quiet, and growing dread was overtaking Seth's senses. There were only two rooms in the back – his bedroom and the bathroom. Resting his hand on the knob of his room, the man paused, taking in a deep breath. Swinging the door open forcefully, he thrust himself back against the wooden, bathroom entry with a solid _thud_ – gun held out before him in both hands. For a long moment, Seth stood staring into the depths of the unknown. Fear caught him like winter's sudden, icy grip and his back remained glued to the door.

The small shafts of light dancing through the curtains to cast strange shadows across his floor were dimming as darkness began to consume the gods' eyes. When nothing moved, he dared a step forward precariously. Legs stiff and ready, Seth felt his neck hairs stand on end. Crossing over the threshold, he thrust the gun towards the opposite wall, squinting at the shadows of his bed.

The only visible mass was his clump of blankets. Breathing out a relieved sigh, Seth rested his pistol back in its hidden pocket in his coat. Shaking his head with a small chuckle, the man muttered to himself, "Just being paranoid."

Deciding that since he was too wired to sleep, Seth strode back through the doorway and towards the bathroom. Beside the tub sat his washer and dryer – both lids open in silent waiting. Pausing before he reached them, Seth strode before the sink to peer into the cracked and musty mirror.

Wiping away an arc of dirt with his sleeve, he stared into the eyes just visible over a rim of blurriness – the only part of himself he recognized. Seth wasn't the same man he had been a year before. His stride didn't have the same confidence, his hands had become hard and rough, and his hair was clumped and entangled.

His mother's words returned to him: _Don't let the world's image of you become your own._ That's what she advised him the first time she caught people treating him differently because of his resemblance to Sephiroth.

Brow furrowing as anger rose in his chest, Seth released a deep-throated scowl, swiping away the rest of the dirt with his sleeve. Eyes flashing menacingly, the man tried to catch his breath as he straightened. Breathing in deeply, and calming down now, Seth gazed at his full reflection with a dark, serious expression.

Then, scoffing more lightly, he turned back towards his dryer. Peering inside – seeing it was empty – Seth headed for the door. Nowadays he couldn't remember much of what he did – doing his chores over a course of days instead of all at once. Passing the washer, he came to a sudden halt, and his eyes widened in recognition. Lying in twisted clumps around the washer's center were his blankets.

Pulling out his pistol swiftly again at a soft _thump_, Seth pushed himself against the wall and quickly grabbed the small nightlight out of the outlet to distinguish the small ray of light on the bathroom's tiles. The silence's tension that crept into Seth's heart clogged his mind of organized attention. Thoughts swam in circles like clothes in the washer.

When a couple of minutes passed and no more sounds could be heard, Seth slowly eased his way towards the doorframe. Peering halfway out it towards his bedroom, the man silently cursed himself for not remembering about the blankets.

_Maybe it's just the pillows_, Seth told himself. However, he didn't move from where he was stationed tensely, nor did he make an effort to turn a light on. If there was an intruder inside his home, he didn't wish to alert them anymore then he already had.

After another five minutes or so, Seth's knees began to tremble in their effort to remain in the same position. As they started to ache, the man relaxed his legs a little with a soft sigh – closing his eyes momentarily. A sudden clatter from the kitchen made Seth jump and within a moment he was out into the hallway.

Pointing the gun out before him, Seth made out a mysterious form, and flicking on the hallway light, squinted his eyes at it. As his sight grew accustomed to the sudden brightness, the man froze on feet that didn't tremble from exhaustion.

The silent figure standing before the small, wide fridge stood calmly with their back to the homeowner. The stranger was cloaked in a flowing, black robe with hood pulled far over their head. A shattered jar stood to one side where it had fallen off from the top of the fridge.

Taking in a sharp breath at the sight of the man – flashes of cubed, black-cloaked figures darting through his mind – Seth called to the person sharply, "You! What do you think you're doing there?!"

Having not expecting an answer, and pulling back the safety, Seth was startled when the stranger peered back over their shoulder at the man, saying in a low, calm voice, "I have come to answer the Calling…"

Blinking at the intruder in confusion – wondering how sane this man was – Seth regained his senses, and said more sharply, "_Calling?! _I didn't call you!"

Shaking his head lightly, facing the fridge again, the man said simply, "No…not you…but to here…"

Frustrated and heart beating against his temples, Seth stepped forward gingerly, snapping angrily, "Get out…get out of my house!"

Still the intruder didn't move from his spot. After another minute, the cloaked individual slowly turned to face the poised man. Face hidden by the deep folds of his hood, the intruder replied – pronouncing each word slowly, "That is not your decision. Only once the others have come—"

"_Others?!_" Seth interrupted furiously, mind ablaze with thoughts of more of these weirdoes in his home, he added loudly, motioning his gun at the man, "_No! _No more! I swear, I have no problem with a dead body."

The man remained where he was, piercing Seth's bravery with a snake's knowing eyes. The stranger knew that Seth wouldn't shoot him – not as easily as he said it. Another minute passed before the intruder said in a louder, firmer, and ominous tone, "There will come a time when you too are called."

Before Seth could do more then blink at the intruder in surprise and disbelief, the cloaked figure was already heading for the door. When he disappeared to the left towards the railing, Seth ran after him. Pausing at the threshold, he heard a nearby thump. Running to the railing, he peered down into the sea of orange-red pavement where a crumpled, cloaked body lay. Someone from below opened her door to peer out, and a distinct yell rang the air.

Cursing himself silently, Seth strode purposely down the steps with a disgruntled expression.

-

* * *

-

The police cruisers showed up just moments after the ambulance. The cloaked man – identified as Peter Fargace – was already long since dead. A reporter showed up shortly later and began scooping the area for any witnesses. When the tall woman, high-heels clicking lightly on the pavement, neared Seth and Karse, she was quickly gestured away.

The high-nosed woman gave a sniff with a dark look, but then immediately eased her expression as she turned towards the cameraman once more. Seth recognized the reporter as the one who told the story of the seventh Cloning murder just the day previous.

"Seth? _Seth!" _Shaking his head clear of thoughts of the bodies and their horrifying wounds, the still uneasy man turned back towards his old partner. A look of unsettlement and worry was spread over Karse's haggard and aging features, as he asked quietly, "Seth…what happened here?"

Resting a hand to his forehead with a sigh, Seth told Karse about the break in – down to each last detail he could recall. Night was pressing in, and the lampposts had flickered on an hour previously. A buzzing sounded from the broken glass of a nearby streetlampas its light flickered on and off distractedly.

When Karse noticed Seth staring beyond his shoulder, and his words slowing, he patted the man on the forearm hard. When Seth turned to him again, Karse ordered in a firm voice, "And you said he fell _right _over the railing? Did he not see it or…" The officer stopped, licking his lips.

Narrowing his brow at the man for a moment, trying to pick up on the remainder of the sentence, Seth raised his eyebrows at him, saying, "What? _What?_ You think that _I_…" – his voice grew incredulous as he finished – "—pushed this man?!"

Looking around him anxiously, Karse stepped closer to his old partner, saying in a quiet, undertone, "No, I'm not. He fell too near to be thrown, but I just…"

As the cop shifted uncomfortably again, Seth prompted sharply, "What? You just _what?_"

Sighing, Karse ran a hand over his weary features to clasp either side of his bottom lip in thought. After another minute, he dropped his arm and turned back to Seth, saying flatly, "You got to admit that it's strange that one of these guys showed up at your house after all those Cloning deaths and all…"

Shaking his head, Seth noted more calmly, "Someone must know I'm on the case, Karse. That's what it has to be." Voice growing more anxious, he prompted earnestly, "I mean, what else _could _it be? Someone's just fucking with my head."

Nodding slowly, Karse muttered, "Perhaps. We'll have to wait and see. For now, you need to come down and file a report."

-

* * *

-

When Seth emerged from the police station an hour and a half later, he rested against the brick building with a sigh. Tipping his head back so that the top of his forehead was pressed against the cool wall, the man closed his eyes in thought and exhaustion. Seth didn't want to return home, but he wasn't in the mood for much else either – not at this time. The man's body ached for his comforters that were still resting in his washer at the apartment.

Hesitantly, Seth headed down the less crowded streets towards a depressing part of his life. With no one to share his home with, it sat there without wonder or reason. There was little meaning in Seth's life now – his duty being only to help Karse.

Why had he decided to take up the old job? Karse hadn't pursued the topic much before his decision, but Seth had realized that the stranger visiting him had really shaken the officer. Maybe Seth just wanted to make things easier on the man, or maybe it was because he felt he needed a purpose so it didn't feel like he was wasting away his life anymore.

Reaching the end of the steps, Seth gazed up them hesitantly. A calm voice caused him to turn as it called softly and crisply through the silent night air; "They get ahead of themselves sometimes."

Glancing back, an image of a passing man on the street from earlier flickered before Seth's eyes, but was gone before he recognized it. The youth leaning against a new, strangely designed motorcycle – hands in his baggy pants' pockets and one knee bent with booted foot against the side – gazed up at the startled man with piercing eyes. In his orbs swam the menacing sea currents, but then the malice was gone. A light wind whipped his blonde locks to frame his curved face.

Turning more towards the stranger to judge him better, Seth narrowed his brow as he responded, "I suppose you saw the news report and just wanted to see where it happened, huh? Pick on the freak and spread rumors or some stupid shit like that."

Chuckling lightly beneath his breath, the youth replied with a small smirk, "Something like that…"

Scowling at the stranger's calmness, Seth shifted his hands in his pockets uncomfortably, muttering irritably, "Yeah, well…go somewhere else."

As Seth placed one numb foot on the bottom step, the youth called out almost anxiously, "I know something about them, _if _you're interested."

Seth froze at this, going over this statement in his head. Strangers had already gotten him into a great mess so far. However, if this kid was telling the truth in knowing something, it was worth a listen. There weren't many leads at the moment anyhow.

Sighing, the man turned towards the youth. Without stepping forward, Seth gave a light shrug – still maintaining his guard – saying, "All right then, tell me."

The lad raised his gaze to meet Seth's for a moment before asking with a hint of disbelief, "That easily, huh?"

Shaking his head, the man replied firmly, "Not quite. But I'll listen to what you have to say."

Nodding slowly, smirk returning now, the youth shuffled his hands from his pockets to cross over his lean chest. Still capturing Seth's gaze in his own, the stranger droned in an almost delighted voice, "The cloaked man that died here – the one who threw himself over the railing because he evidently couldn't stay – was named Peter Fargace."

Shifting impatiently, Seth noted irritably, "I hope you're going to tell me something other than what I got from the investigators."

Ignoring Seth's comment, the youth continued on: "Peter wasn't a normal man, and surely not in the right state of mind." – here the stranger tapped his temple in reference – "But he was only one of many, and under another who is delicate about their proceedings, as you have found out."

Narrowing his brow seriously at the blonde, soaking in each word now, Seth prompted, "Do you mean to say that that _whack _job worked with the Cloning case killer?"

Nodding his head a bit grimly, smile gone, the stranger replied, "Indeed he did. And there are many more out there like Peter Fargace."

"Then…how has he not been caught?"

Shrugging his shoulders, the youth said simply, "I guess the police haven't been doing their jobs."

Taking great offense to this, Seth scowled and spat, "I've heard enough."

As he turned away towards the stairs, the blonde-haired man called out, "Just watch your back when it comes to your partner."

Seth turned to open his mouth, but the youth was already mounting his motorcycle and had his helmet on. As Seth started talking, his words were drowned out by the fierce roar of the machine, and a moment later, the stranger took off in a trail of exhaust. With a sigh, Seth turned back towards his apartment.

Climbing the familiar, black grated steps, Seth kicked open the door of his pitiful home. As it bounced off the wall, he caught the side in his hand as he passed through. Thrusting it closed behind him with a bang, the man didn't even bother to kick off his shoes or disrobe his coat. Instead, he headed straight for his bedroom in the back.

Thoughts of Peter Fargace and the blonde stranger that had shown up drifted out of his mind. The only images that remained were the sharp, blue eyes of the youth he _knew _he had seen before. However, it escaped him like the last remnants of a dream. Lying down on his bed to be consumed by darkness, a sudden thought of his dream the other night came to mind, and Seth realized who the stranger had reminded him of. However, as the man's body collapsed with exhaustion, sleep overtook him, and the thoughts flittered into nothingness.


	6. Ghosts of Christmas Pasts

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Ghosts of Christmas Pasts**

* * *

Deeply resenting not having torn his phone from the wall four months previous, Seth woke and dressed in an irritated manner. Without even looking at what he as throwing on – knowing that it didn't particularly matter – the youth reminded himself that it was one of the few days of the year he had to meet up with his family. After this, the next wouldn't be for months. 

This notion thoroughly lightening his mood, Seth threw on his jacket and picking up a bulky, and sharp-edged garbage bag, he headed briskly for the door. The walk to his mother's house was a ways off, and Seth was already running late for the social family gathering. He personally hated appearing at the reunions – hardly recognizing the people posing as his relatives.

At least, on this widely celebrated holiday, Seth could temporarily forget his problems and the Cloning case. After the mysterious man's death, he was less confident and even a bit intimidated now, by this unknown, manipulative killer. What had begun as the homicide of over-obsessive gaming fans had turned into something much, much more.

_Don't worry about it_, Seth reminded himself, pushing these notions away. _At least, no today._

The streets were less crowded on the cold, brightly lit Christmas morning. The clock tower rang eleven times as the afternoon began to roll around. Seth was officially two hours late, which somehow brought a pleasing smile to his face. He knew _exactly _what would happen when he arrived – it was always the same.

Walking through the door, Seth would be facing the living room with mounds of shimmering wrapping paper and already discarded toys. His young cousins would be comparing presents as parents argued over useless matters. The first thing his mother would do was look him over, report her criticism, and then usher him into the traditional family chaos and homemade eggnog. His drunken uncles would tell him about their businesses while his older cousins would compare lifestyles and finances. Somewhere in the mix of all this, Seth's lifestyle would come up and his relatives would debate about it and then leave it alone until dinner – where he would be forced to walk out, and his mother would claim that he had 'ruined' another family Christmas.

Once again, Seth didn't know why he had hadn't smashed his phone, or why he had even brought one for that matter. No one ever called his number, and he didn't give it out. His mother had gone to every one of his old co-workers, demanding it from them until someone finally yielded.

_Probably Karse._

"You're my baby, I worry about you," she would always say.

Supposing that he could understand this, Seth relieved a great sigh as he reached the top of the steep slope he'd been walking diligently up. Pausing there, the man gazed fondly down on the quiet, glistening and alight city. For a moment, he looked past the dirty streets, the homeless lying restlessly, and even past the concrete walls to the happy families and smiling faces, and _for_ that moment, Seth felt truly at peace.

However, there can never be an ever-lasting peace, and sure enough, the deep rumbling of a large engine broke Seth's perceptive fantasy. A screeching rent the air until Seth was grinding his teeth together. A large, bulky silver form came flying over the slope towards him, and the man had to dart out of the way to avoid being hit as the motorcycle shot past.

A brief glimpse of white-blonde made Seth double take, but the motorcycle and its rider were already out of sight. A small prickling arose on the back of Seth's neck, but then he shrugged it off with a shake of his head. It was Christmas – it was an excuse not to worry, and not to work.

Karse had been calling Seth every morning, night, and anywhere in between to propose preposterous ideas and concepts concerning the Cloning case. When Seth had kept his phone off the hook, it had only prompted Karse to worry more and rush over – breaking down the door onto one hinge.

Yelling at the aging man did little good. He was petrified, and Seth understood that, but he _did _enjoy some peace and time to himself. Despite the common belief amongst his family members, Seth _did _have a job to do so he could buy them the damn presents he was walking an hour in the cold to give them this merry-fricken-Christmas morning.

Feeling disgruntled once more, the man continued – reminding himself of the topics to avoid and what relatives to say the least to. Maybe if he was lucky, Seth could get himself out of this situation early and avoid any conflict.

Knowing this unlikely, Seth turned from the crosswalk to steps leading up to the lawn where the three-story Victorian rested. The driveway to one side was packed with angled cars that filtered in a parting line into the street. The beat and chipped walkway curved to the white, wooden porch and the looming door. The only light came from the large, lit Christmas tree in one corner – the mismatched colors casting a rainbow through the window and onto the sleek back of the Pomeranian resting in her bed outside.

The small dog raised her light brown and white muffed head at the sound of soft boot-steps, and wagged her tail happily at the sight of life – having been cast out when she couldn't calm down. Now on her leash, the Pomeranian rose to her feet and tugged towards Seth with soft whining sounds, trembling slightly in the nippy air.

Smiling to himself, Seth rested the garbage bag down and dropped to his knees to pet at the small dog, saying softly, "Hey there, Cara," – using the short version of the dog's name, Caramel. The dog persisted to lick at his hands and resting her paws on his knee, attempted to stretch her plastic-coated chain long enough to climb into Seth's lap.

With a light chuckle, Seth placed the dog down – holding her still with one hand – while attempting to release her with the other. Finally, the metal clasp came free and Cara broke from her liberator's grasp and began running circles around him. The Pomeranian paused only to sniff at the garbage bag suspiciously, and quickly darted to one side as Seth pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. It was just past eleven, and already it felt like such a long day.

Patting his leg side with a kissing sound, Seth addressed the perky Cara, "Come on, girl, let's go in."

Picking the garbage bag of presents back up again and swinging it over his shoulder, Seth clasped the cold knob with his free hand. A brief flash passed before his eyes, and a heat flash passed over him. A moment later, it passed and Seth found himself standing, staring dumbfounded at the royal green painted front door.

With a small shake of his head to clear it from the building fuzziness, Seth pushed against the door. It gave a light creak as it opened, and Seth called out in a merry, booming voice, "Ho ho ho!!"

Dozens of aged faces turned his way as the late guest stepped into the small hallway before the staircase. Through the doorway, Seth's appearance brought many calls and hollers. Cara pushed her way into the house and through the man's legs to bound at the nearest child and start licking him in greeting. The boy laughed, giving soft protests as he tumbled back and the other young children gathered around the pair.

A distinct, sharp voice called from the kitchen, "Is that Seth? You know, it's about time that he—"

On high heels that much have been killing her, a woman with gray in her tussle of billowy, black hair swayed through the dining room to peer at her youngest son. Her sharp eyes took in his ragged and blatantly thrown-together attire in a single glance. In her hand, she held a wooden spoon – wet from stirring soup.

Turning towards his mother, Seth smiled broadly at her, offering, "Sorry, you know how the streets are on the holidays."

Snorting and waving the spoon at her son threateningly, Bernice warned him, "Don't try that, mister. That may have worked last year, but I've _seen _those streets myself today. They're dang near empty, and if you think—"

Interjecting his mother's ranting with a laugh, Seth dropped the garbage bag and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the woman as he said good-heartedly, "All right, all right Ma…I'm sorry."

Pulling away from the embrace, Seth's mother noted, "No you're not." A smile lit Bernice's face and faltered as she tried to hide it, but it eventually stayed. With a sigh, she tapped the spoon against Seth's chest, saying, "You know, you're lucky I love you." Turning on heel with a wide smile, she returned to the kitchen.

With a small shake of his head, Seth turned an amused expression to the patiently waiting relatives sitting clustered together on the floor and furniture of the living room. Children were gathered beside the tree on bobbing knees as they anxiously awaited the gift giving. Seth was surprised to find that the family had waited for him this year.

Resting the black, sleek bag back down – making Cara dart aside playfully – Seth began tugging out multi-wrapped boxes. Placing them beneath the tree, he noted their contrast to the nicely packaged gifts. He supposed it should bother him, but this year it didn't, and no one said anything. The roaming eyes and expressions showed Seth all the disparagement he could handle.

Resting the now empty bag to one side – feeling thoroughly pleased with his high stack of gifts taking up a whole corner – Seth motioned his way through the small children to sit in a small space between an uncle and cousin. The two watched him for a moment, shifting slightly as they attempted to stay clear of his long, glistening hair.

A large and lazy-looking aunt turned her head and frizzy hair towards the back open doorway of the living room, calling in a loud voice, "Bernice, bring the eggnog!"

Sure enough, Bernice's hourglass form appeared a moment later in a long, flower dress with a white apron thrown around her waist. In her long fingers' strong grip she bore several bottles and glasses filled to the brim with the sweet, white foam of homemade eggnog.

One of the reasons Seth even bothered with family gatherings was to drink his mother's eggnog. It seemed to grow more delicious with each passing year, as if Bernice worked all twelve months on perfecting it for her fans. Setting down the tray, the woman began to hand out the drink with a forced smile. Bernice knew what would happen; the family would get drunk, resulting in being loud and boisterous. Something would be broken, which is why she moved the valuables to the attic where no one was likely to go.

Seth noted his mother's grimness, but she only offered him a slight shrug and walked back into the kitchen with the empty tray before he could say anything. Giving a sigh as he sipped at his eggnog, Seth went through the list of presents in his head – wondering if he had left anyone out.

With such a large family, it was easy to overlook some distant relatives. Seth had tried to get everyone this year – partly because he wanted to prove to them that he was doing just fine. Maybe they wouldn't banter him this Christmas about his work or lack of. His mother had disapproved of his detective job, especially because it didn't pay much. Now the whole family had a habit of remarking on his new career as a video game tester. Said he was too obsessive and needed some growing up.

Personally, it didn't bother Seth too much what relatives he saw maybe twice a year at most, thought about him. Except for his mother and his younger cousins who were young and accepting – looking up to him and thinking his job cool – Seth didn't care for his family at all. If it wasn't for them, he wouldn't show up at these get-togethers.

Clapping her hands together to gain attention as she swayed back into the room, Bernice took her guests in with a radiant smile, saying, "Shall we get started, then?"

Seth made a motion to point something out, but a stout look from the large, frizzy-haired Aunt Elanna caused him to shut his mouth and fold his hands together between his knees. He leaned forward away from his quiet relatives to watch with a smile as the children gathered eagerly – looking for the best and closest spot near Bernice to snatch their presents.

The mingled talk happening around the room kept to a dull roar as the host began calling out names – raising her head with the gift held up like a trophy for the winner to receive their prize. Mumbled thanks were returned by welcomes as adults exchanged clothes they would either return or keep locked away in the closet. The real joy Seth found came from watching his little cousins opening presents – seeing the happy gleams passing over their excited faces.

The man's own measly pile of half-glanced clothes and small tokens didn't bother him any. Seth came to _give _gifts – not get them. The present pile beneath the tree began to slowly diminish, and more wrapping paper accumulated the small room. Cara shifted through the sea of bright colors with an echo of rips and tearing as she whimpered for help. The house cat, Butters – named for his soft, golden fur – darted from around furniture to snatch at bits of wrapping paper. At one point, Butters attempted to steal a piece of flimsy, foil paper, but ended up taking the present still taped to it, and Seth's Uncle Ben had to chase the cat through the flap door.

The rest of the morning passed in humor and small talk. When about a third of the presents were left – and it was just the small, back ones sitting there – was when things went wrong. Seth had been thoroughly pleased to find no one questioningly him about his life this year, though weary looks _were _sent his way. After a while, they made him become uneasy, and Seth shifted where he sat until he thought his legs would burst from their sockets, and get up and walk around on their own.

Then the question came.

Bernice – who was still busy handing out gifts, didn't look up as she called to her only son present, "Are you working on that Cloning case again?"

Seth nearly dropped his warmed, water-downed eggnog as he choked on the statement. Silence from the adults fell over the room as they all turned wide, attentive eyes on him. The children paid the question no mind – it meant nothing to them. The news was boring after all.

Lowering his hand and wiping his mouth consciously with the back of his sleeve as he gazed around the room, Seth was lost for words. His mother had always kept track of which cases he worked on, if she decided it was time to call his cellphone and find out if he was all right. It was the main reason that Seth had ditched the cellphone in the first place.

Looking up from the drink he now held with both hands in his lap, Seth told Bernice in a distracted voice, "Ma, I think now _isn't _the time."

Throwing a small box at him rather forcefully, Bernice gazed sternly at him as she said with pursed lips, "No, I suppose not."

Sighing, the rest of the gift meeting went by in mild talk – none of which contained Seth's viewpoints. It was fine that his relatives were ignoring him like an annoying housefly. It just meant that there was less talk this year about his lifestyle. Maybe the reports about the Cloning case had given them a new perspective about why Seth left the force – even if it wasn't the _right _perspective.

The talk of finances, cars, and old cuts and wounds was moved into the dining room. Bernice attempted to pile up the wrapping paper to throw into garbage bags, but the trotting feet shifting from one ritual to the next made her give up and shuffle through the archway herself.

At the back of the crowd, Seth felt suddenly distant from the faces he knew, but the people behind them he didn't. For a brief moment, Seth glimpsed the familiar faces as stricken victims of his case. Every investigator shared the same fear – that those they cared about could suffer because of the enemies they make.

Pulling out a seat near the beautifully decorated, thirty-foot long table – white candles lit delicately in a snowflake pattern, silverware gleaming softly beneath the warm, overhead light, white linen table cloth embroidered with the change of seasons – Seth took his place beside his mother. Bernice sat at the head of the table, while the other end remained bare save for the goblet placed respectively where the plate would have been. Seth's family drank red wine to his father's memory, and no one _ever _took the seat across from his mother. It had always remained an unspoken tradition.

The cushioned, sycamore seat place opposite Seth remained empty. His older brother hadn't shown up for Christmas this year, but no reason was offered. Thinking it best to leave well enough alone, Seth instead directed his attention with his other relatives towards Bernice – their eyes lingering on the smoldering meats and nostrils inhaling the sweet smells of baked potatoes and fruit – as she rose to her feet.

Tapping a spoon delicately against her wine glass, Bernice stood with straining lips and a proud face. Again, the image of his mother's still form appeared in his mind's eye, and Seth had to push it down thoroughly hard this time in order to take in her words.

With a strong, unfaltering voice, Bernice lowered her arms halfway before meeting her relatives' eyes, both blood and marriage, and stated proudly, "We gather today, like every year, to bathe in one another's warm light…"

Tuning his ears out, Seth rolled his eyes. His mother believed that everyone had an aura, and when auras came close together, they created a warmth and serenity. Bernice gave the same speech every year, and her relatives seemed to just soak it up. Seth redirected his gaze to his mother as she paused to glare at him thoughtfully. As she continued, he dazed out instead, and suddenly the images of his dream flashed before his eyes. A sharp pulse hit his temples, making the youth wince.

If Bernice noticed her son's strange behavior, she paid it no mind this time. The pain was gone in a moment anyways, leaving Seth to rub at the memory of it. Now his mother was talking about ghosts, and her late husband sitting at the far end of the table. Seth, as a child, had always thought the notion humorous, because there was no chair there.

Everyone directed their gaze as Bernice held her hand out towards the empty spot. Just like every year, nobody saw anything. A distant look entered the widow's eyes, and Seth turned his gaze worriedly to her. His mother's sanity had always been a question in the household, and ever more since Hugh's death.

When the speech ended, the family bowed their heads in respect, each with the same thoughts – about the hope Hugh had once brought to each member's life. Despite the man's clear drinking problem, he had remained the beacon of light for them each. Seth wished for a brief moment that his brother had come, but a flare of anger suppressed this thought quickly. Cara moved silently beneath people's feet, pausing to whine for scraps of the delicious smelling meal.

Bernice was the last to raise her head, and stood watching her family quietly dig into their meals. No one wanted to say anything until their host relaxed herself. The tension building in the room wasn't enough to kill appetites, and as Bernice began to realize this, she took her seat carefully. Seth eyed his mother with an uncertainty, but she just gave him a small smile before helping herself to some potatoes. With a sigh, Seth didn't feel like eating anymore, and sat back to observe the rest of his family as they engaged in small talk.

No one paid the youth much mind, and for once Seth was thankful that he took up the Cloning case again. His mother must have spoken to Karse and whittled the information out of the man. Bernice was a very persistent person. Seth was thankful for this for once. He didn't think he could handle another interrogation of his life. However, that didn't stop the disapproving looks his mother threw his way.

Seth sighed and leaned forward in his chair. Folding his hands on the table and pushing his empty, thoroughly cleaned plate to one side, he looked his mother dead in the eye. In a quiet tone, the youth stated firmly, "Look, I know that you don't want me to be working on this case, but—"

In a crisp voice, Bernice responded with mock interest, "Why wouldn't I want you go to back to work?" A few aunts and uncles were eyeing them now as their sentences slurred. At this, Bernice watched her family as she popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

Tensing a little, Seth kept his voice to an almost whisper, saying softly, "Ma, I _do_have a job."

Raising an eyebrow at him with fork paused halfway to her mouth, Bernice prompted, "Oh? Then why are you working on that freak-show case again?"

Sighing as the conversation across the table came to slow stop, Seth ignored his relatives' watchful gazes, saying in an irritated tone, "I'm helping a friend – that's all." Cara leapt into a small cousin's lap and began nibbling at the half-eaten food there.

Setting her fork down now, Bernice leaned a bit forward, asking her son directly, "Why can't you go back to steady work?"

With a scoff, Seth noted, "You never _liked _my work!" At this, the Pomeranian gave an alerted yip and scuffled off of her host's lap and onto the floor with a soft _thump_.

Hesitating, Bernice added in a soft voice as color drained from her face, "That may be so, but at least it was steady income."

Shaking his head, Seth leaned back in his chair now, saying clearly for all listening ears, "I _have _steady income, and I'm doing just fine." He sent a glare towards one of his older cousins who gave a scoff at this statement. Maurice cleared his throat at Seth's hard glare, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

With a shake of his head, Seth pushed his chair back and took the napkin from his lap, stating in a clear voice, "I'm gonna head out. I have _real _work to do, after all." He spat at the word, meeting his mother's strict face with a dark look before turning and heading out of the room.

Seth didn't glance back, but instead went into the living room and gathered up his unwrapped presents. Gazing around for his garbage bag, he decided instead to empty one out of wrapping paper and boxes in the middle of the floor, before filling it up with his belongings. Coming back into the hallway, he met his mother's eyes from where she stood leaning in the doorway to the dining room.

In a quiet voice, she told her youngest son sternly, "If you walk out that door, don't think about coming back. You don't talk to me like that."

With hand paused on the doorknob, Seth considered this statement. If he left, he would lose what's left of his deranged, intrusive family. His father's death had already taken its toll. Then his brother's disappearance and now his mother's threat.

Estimating that he was staying, Bernice gave a cut nod of her head before straightening with arms crossed over her chest, and turned to walk back into the dining room. Anxious faces watched the pair hesitantly, waiting for the next move. Seeing his mother's retreating back sparked a flame of anger in Seth, and he clasped the warm doorknob more firmly now.

Swinging the door open with a wining creak and a gust of wind that blew snow into his hair, Seth told his mother in a firm tone as she paused at the sound, "Then you have no one left," before stepping out and closing the door firmly behind him.

-

* * *

-

The walk didn't calm him down. The streets remained exceptionally empty, and the town clock rang three times clearly through the quiet air. The garbage bag hit repeatedly against Seth's leg, making his walking unstable and clumsy. Tripping over the bottom of the bag, he cursed loudly as it ripped open and various trinkets spilled out onto the sidewalk.

Crouching down to gather them up again – mumbling incoherently to himself – Seth paused as he was overshadowed. Glancing up a bit nervously, Seth blinked as the shadow passed and the sun beat down unshielded against his eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in warning, and gathering his things and the ripped bag in his arms, Seth hurried down the street and around the corner towards his apartment complex.

-

* * *

-

The hours passed in silence. The small apartment remained dark, and vacant of anything resembling life. Seth lay in his bed with the blankets pulled over his head in an attempt of early sleep. The alarm clock on his headboard showed 7:30 in bright red lights. Pulling his comforter down, the youth groaned at the sight of the time, and pulled the blankets down to his side with a contempt sigh. Thoughts of the day's happenings filled his mind, and regret whittled its way into Seth's mindset.

After a couple of more minutes, the youth finally gave into guilt and dressed quickly. He would head over to his mother's house and apologize – set things right. Perhaps he would even spend the night there and give Bernice some company outside Cara. The rest of the nosy family would be gone by now.

-

* * *

-

By the time that Seth jogged up the steps to his mother's porch, it had started snowing. Cara's bed beneath the window remained empty. The only light came from the flickering Christmas orbs sprayed around the living room. Their fluorescent colors spilled rainbows out through the window and onto the wooden planks.

Knocking sharply on the door, Seth waited impatiently on bobbing feet. Releasing a deep breath, he watched it curl in the cold air. When a minute passed and silence continued to creep through the night, he rang the doorbell. Still nothing. Trying the knob revealed that it was locked.

Giving a soft curse, Seth made his way off the porch and jumped onto the driveway from the raised lawn. Making his way up the tar pathway, he headed for the small doorway. The overhead light came on instinctively as he approached. Here the door was locked as well. Neither knocking or holding the doorbell got him any results.

_Maybe she went with Aunt Elanna for the night_.

The thought was discouraging, and Seth knew the day's events would disturb him all night. With a sigh, he kicked at the recent snowfall, and dug his hands into his trench coat fore-pockets before turning to head back down the driveway. The light from the doorway went off halfway down. However, as Seth came towards the end of the tar pathway, yellow light blazed past his feet to spill out onto the street.

With a relieved sigh, Seth came to a stop – thinking that his mother must have come to the door at last. Opening his mouth to say something, Seth half turned as a voice called out distinctly, "Cold night, huh?"

Immediately tensing up at the unfamiliar tone, Seth eyed the dark figure as it strode into the light. At first, he thought it a plump man, but the soft folds of the puff jacket were the first to make a distinct appearance. A crafty smirk appeared on a youthful face, and a warm glow passed over shoulder-length, platinum hair. Seth recognized him immediately from Karse's description, and resisted the urge to turn and run.

Digging in his heels as his brow narrowed, Seth demanded flatly, "Who are you?"

Giving a light shrug as he stepped closer, the stranger replied evenly, "Just a passing walker is all."

Raising an eyebrow at him, Seth stated accusingly, "Up a stranger's driveway?"

The man paused at this as if to consider the thought, and then with another shrug he strode towards him. Seth stepped back as the youth walked down the driveway, and turned onto the sidewalk. The light from the doorway dimmed out, and darkness swallowed the stranger into nothingness.

It was another minute before Seth forced his stiff legs to take him onto the sidewalk. Turning down the opposite way with eyes cast on the ground, he went through the small scenario in his mind. Heart beating hard against his chest, he resolved to call Karse in the morning to report the encounter.

As a lamppost's light passed into view, Seth raised his gaze instinctively to pass his eyes up and down the normally busy street. A few cars drifted away in the distance, but the street remained empty. The youth came to a sudden halt at the dim figure standing on the street corner facing him – waiting.

The full face and slumped cheeks – the thick lips and droop eyes – all clicked off a name in Seth's mind, and his heartbeat stopped for a moment. His eyes widened at the sight in disbelief, and his arms shook as the urge to pinch himself arose. The figure waited another moment before turning and heading slowly and steadily down the sidewalk – passing out of view behind a house's structure.

Shaking his suddenly heavy arms from their pockets, Seth ran to the end of the sidewalk, and came to a skidding halt. The familiar form was already more than halfway down the street. Urging his feet onwards, Seth ran at top speed down after him.

_It can't be_, he thought desperately. _No, it's been years…his body, I saw it there…in the casket that day…_

The tall, stocky figure stepped over into the road towards the other sidewalk. Seth continued after the man around various turns and down cascading streets – always half a street length behind. When at last the figure disappeared onto a walkway through two rows of planted bushes, Seth came to a slow stop. The familiar sound of a broken lamppost light caught his attention, and he raised his gaze to the worn buildings standing off to the side.

Stepping slowly onto the path, Seth was faced with a parking lot he'd seen every day – always a third of the way filled with cars. Even less now, since it was Christmas evening. Sure enough, there was the familiar face standing at the foot of the staircase leading up to his apartment.

Seth hesitated before walking slowly forward. This time however, the aging man didn't turn and continue on – watching his follower with a prestige, solemn expression. Seth came to a subtle halt ten feet away. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a choked, "D-Dad?"

A smile spread widely over Hugh's face – showing part of his craggily teeth – before the figure dispersed. The faint sounds of descending footsteps made Seth raised his disheartened expression, and he met the vivid blue eyes haunting his dreams.


	7. Frozen Memoirs

**CHAPTER SEVEN  
**

**Frozen Memoirs**

* * *

Throughout his young life, Seth had always been sufficed with the title of "hot-tempered". Often referred to as violent, over reactive, and disabled by his teachers, Seth's childhood had been twisted, leaving him with tormented nights for _years, _evenafter he had broke away from a broken home. Though being on the police force had greatly improved his patience and control, the man's anger still raged quietly within him.

Standing at the end of the staircase and looking up into the eyes of the mysterious blonde as he paused halfway down, Seth could feel a rage burning his heart. The man's chest tightened as a fitful look passed over his features. The youth however, remained unmoving, but clearly aware of the position he had walked himself into.

Seth let his gaze take in every inch of the growingly familiar stranger, straying to a lump held firmly beneath one arm. In a tight, but clear voice, he prompted, "What are you doing here?"

Pausing only momentarily as he slowly stepped his way down towards Seth, the man replied in a calm, casual tone, "Looking for you."

Standing his ground and blocking the stairway, Seth's brow narrowed at these three simple words, as he demanded in a clear, deep tone, "Why?"

Stopping just a few steps away from the bottom and lowering his gaze to look the man straight in the eyes, the youth answered, "I've heard that you have taken up the Cloning case again."

Seth's heart pumped against his chest at this. How many officers at the station had Karse informed about the return of his old partner? How many people had _those _people told since? Making a mental note to speak with the careless coot, Seth asked flatly, "What does that matter to you?"

The lad didn't break the gaze as he said with a mockingly hurt tone, "Detective…I _knew _these men. I knew their ambitions, and I knew their faults. A gamer can still be an achiever. You'd do well to remember that."

Before Seth could find a response to this statement, the youth was already stepping down. Without waiting for Seth to move, he was pushing past – striding through the parking lot towards the sidewalk – avoiding the lamp lights and whistling an ominous, familiar tune.

-

* * *

-

The night passed uneventfully – to Seth's great contentment. However, lying there in bed, his mind wandered to the things his mother had said. At first, when he strode into the house and went to his room, the man had yanked the phone from the wall. Sitting on his lumpy, worn mattress in thought for a few hours, Seth plugged it in again – not sure what he was hoping for.

There were no calls.

No attempted apologies or the usual conversation openers like, "We need to talk", or "About what happened today". Seth had come to expect these so often from his mother, he shifted where he lay uncomfortably in worried thought. He would give in to her ranting now, if he knew where she was and with whom.

Still, the phone remained silent.

The night passed slowly and daylight came too quick. Seth lay half-dozing with red shot eyes half open when a sharp call seemed to nudge his heart and tell his body to take action. On the second ring, Seth was up and diving for the floor where the old-fashioned dial-spin phone rested. Bare arms burning against the old, rough rug splayed across his floor, Seth barely raised the mouthpiece before demanding earnestly, "Hello? Ma?"

A distinct grunt and muffled curse came from the other end, and Seth relaxed with an irritable sigh. Karse must have heard it, because he boomed into the phone, "What? No hellos?! What's the matter with you?!"

"Nothing," muttered the youth, sitting up stiffly now. Hours without movement made his limbs shake with effort. Ignoring the growing joint pain, Seth continued, "I was…just expecting someone."

Karse must have taken Seth's past stories of family reunions into account, because the detective stated in a calmer, quieter tone, "I thought we'd meet up today and discuss what we're doing…"

Pushing himself to his feet with one hand, carrying the phone and the other holding the receiver, Seth headed for his bathroom across the hall as he replied, "Yeah, sure, whatever; anything to get this moving along." Letting the water at the sink run until it was warm, the youth listened to Karse rant about his demanding children and the screwed up family dinner he'd been forced to go to for Christmas evening.

It was the same story every year for Karse. The only difference between him and Seth was that Seth seemed to gain twelve cousins every year. He was damned if he didn't know their names upon family gatherings.

When Karse paused for breath, Seth seized the opportunity with toothbrush in mouth, proclaiming, "Karse, bitch about your family another time, and tell me why you called."

There came a long, hesitant pause from the other end, and Seth couldn't help sighing and rolling his eyes. Evidently, his partner had to consider the question before answering. Finally, the replay came back as; "…That was why."

Irritated now, Seth held the phone in an iron grip, stating clearly and flatly, "Meet me at the Gamer's Store." Clicking off the man's protests, Seth tossed the phone on its holder to one side on the counter. Spitting what he hadn't swallowed of the toothpaste, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned towards his room.

It would be a long few days ahead of him, Seth knew, and his partner wasn't making matters any easier. At least though, they could move on with Seth's plans and see where they took them. Karse had greatly protested them at first, but when Seth asked him for a better plan, the man could offer up nothing and remained quiet about it since.

With a grunt and sigh, Seth dropped to his knees heavily, and using strong hands and muscled arms to support his weight, peering beneath the bed into the shadows. Reaching out a hand, he groped on the wooden planks he hadn't been able to afford to cover with carpet. After a couple minutes of searching, Seth peered under again.

Concluding he couldn't make out the notebook from the various other lumps beneath his nest, Seth stood and headed for the kitchen. Coming back with a flashlight, he clicked it on.

Nothing happened.

Smacking it against his hand, and then the wall, and finally his bedroom doorknob, Seth watched the side panel give way to reveal an empty battery cartridge. Striding back into the kitchen, he began pulling open half empty drawers, searching for batteries. He stopped halfway down a column of them as his eyes strayed to the broomstick resting unused against the refrigerator side.

Letting the flashlight drop into the open drawer that threatened to fall loose, he snatched up the broom in his hand and strode back down the hall. In his room, he kneeled down once more and pushed the handle beneath the bed. With a great swing, he thrust the items resting there to the side from out underneath. The clatter of hard objects smacking against the wall caused him to sit up, abandoning his retrieval tool. Moving to the end of the bed, he picked through the pile of papers, boxes, notebooks, and various items like broken fans and entertainment equipment, and crusted pans.

It was only after he checked underneath the empty bed again that Seth realized the notebook wasn't there.

-

* * *

-

Standing uncomfortably against one of the tables covered in plastic terrain prop pieces at the Gamer's Store, Karse peered uneasily around him. The joyful banter shared amongst gamers lay beyond his reach, and his presence seemed to draw unsure stares and disapproving looks from the clerk.

When about half an hour passed, the balding man strode around the counter as a couple of customers headed for the door with plastic bags in hands, and approached Karse. The officer already knew what he would say, but waited for the clerk to speak first nonetheless.

In a quiet, but flat tone, Basch stated, "Sir, if you're not going to buy anything, or participate in any events, I would appreciate you leaving. You're scattering my customers."

Opening the side of his trench coat to reveal the badge pinned there, Karse told the owner in a firm, unwavering voice, "I'm a homicide detective. I'm here waiting for my partner. You most likely know him – Seth Yimir?"

At this, Basch eyed the man unsurely. He had heard of Seth's partner from the vague tales his best customer had told him, but had never met the man face-to-face. After a minute, the storeowner relaxed, and nodding, strode back towards the counter without another word.

The jingle of the glass doorbells made Karse look up hopefully. He began to relax at the familiar form of his partner. His hopes fell at the hard look plastered on Seth's face, and the heated stroke of each stride. Unfolding his arms and straightening, Karse strode to meet the man with a concerned look.

"What? What's the matter?" Shaking his head irritably, Seth muttered a few curses beneath his breath. In a more urgent tone, Karse demanded, "_What _is it?"

Seeming to calm at the familiar voice, Seth raised his piercing eyes. At this, the aging man took a half step back. Though this would normally bother him, Seth let it pass for now. Sighing, and rubbing his temples with the thumb and index finger of one hand, Seth replied, "The notebook Basch gave me is gone." At the questionable look Karse gave him, he added exasperatedly, "The one with the names of the victims!"

Eyeing him, Karse stated firmly, "Tell me what that has to do with anything. Forensics told us their names."

Nodding, Seth slipped onto a stool at a table, folding his hands together on the edge, examining the items displayed before him with no real interest. "Scouring the names briefly, I saw that each of them came here on the day they were killed. Basch said they were meeting someone – a cloaked man."

Leaning towards him seriously with elbows resting on the metal table edge, Basch prompted, "Was his name in the book as well?"

Shaking his head, Seth replied, "Not as far as I know. Basch never saw him come in, and never saw him leave. Never stayed more than a few minutes either."

Nodding as he took in this information, Karse noted, "So this guy was setting up meetings."

"With F-F seven fans – as you yourself saw. This just makes my plan more likely to work. We leave a flyer with my information here, and that man – our killer – will see it and try to contact me to set up a meeting."

"What if he knows who you are?"

Shrugging at this, Seth replied, "Then we will recruit a willing person to attempt this instead."

"You want to endanger _another _person's life?" Karse snapped incredulously, pushing away from the table. "Are you _crazy?!"_

Shaking his head, Seth noted, "We'll be right outside the only entrance. They'll _have _to come out together, and _that's _when we get him. We could even try following him to wherever he brings me, or this other person."

As the sense of the plan began to form in his mind, Karse knew it was useless to attempt arguing with Seth. It was the best shot they had now. There were too many coincidences to overlook, and it was their only hope of finding out more about the killer, the case, and the victims.

Sighing, Karse turned back to Seth with hands on her hips, and raised eyebrows, saying, "You know this is crazy, right?"

A slow grin came over Seth's features as he realized that Karse had already given in to his plan. "Yeah…I know."

-

* * *

-

Once the flyer was made with a scanned photo of Seth, and printed out from the local library, the detectives returned to the store. After explaining the plan to Basch, the storeowner reluctantly gave in with a sigh, and told them they could tape the poster to the inside of the glass front window. After it was secured, Seth stared at the back of it for a long moment. The flyer listed his name and phone number. Beneath this and the photo, it read:

_Fan to Final Fantasy VII? Want news on the Cloning case, or just wish to find others who are interested about this historical piece of information surrounding the game series? Then give me a call to come to the meetings held every week._

"Do you think this will work?"

Attention drawn back, Seth turned to Karse with an honest shrug, saying, "Probably, but who knows? One step at a time. Have you interviewed the latest victim's family?"

At this, Karse frowned, and shook his head, stating simply, "Grieving time."

Considering this, Seth nodded in understanding. "That's fine. There probably isn't much that they could tell us anyways. We have a plan in place – that's more than anyone could have hoped for at this stage of things."

From here, they parted ways, paying their respects to Basch.

-

* * *

-

With no case to worry over for a few presumed days, Seth went about his usual lifestyle that seemed so old and unfamiliar to him now – as if he hadn't been watching TV or video game testing in months. It was amazing how easily he had fallen back into the old ways – amazing and a little scary. He had broken away from that lifestyle for a good reason, after all; one which he didn't wish to simply forget in a week.

Despite his best attempts, Seth couldn't stray his mind from the case. He couldn't concentrate on his work, and every time he turned on the TV, it seemed that it always landed on talks about the Cloning deaths. He had even called up the mortuary several times, but the resulting deaths of the bodies were all the same. There was no new information to gather from there.

On the third afternoon following the posting of the flyer, Seth lay sprawled on his bed with the covers half wrapped around his legs – staring up at the ceiling with a blank, bored expression. A sharp sound interrupted his senses, and Seth narrowed his brow in confused thought as he attempted to interpret it.

When Seth realized it was his phone ringing, he pushed himself up just as it stopped. He half expected it to be Karse, but then his mind strayed to his poster. When it didn't ring again, he curled up away from it on his side with a sigh. Just as Seth pulled the blankets halfway up over him, the sharp ringing began again.

This time, Seth didn't hesitate before diving over the side, and stretching his arm out. Instead of grasping the receiver, it went cascading. Silence came from the earpiece, but there was someone on the other side. Pulling on the curled chord, it straining with each yank, Seth stretched his hands towards it. Finally grasping the receiver, he thrust it up against his ear with a sharp twinge of pain, saying in an exhausted, hurried tone, "Hello?"

Silence came from the other side for a minute, before a deep, calm voice stated, "Seth Yimir." It wasn't a question.

Seth half wished he had set up a tracker to the line, but it probably wouldn't have done much good. No doubt the man was calling from a payphone. Even if Seth arrived at the scene, he would be long gone. It'd be different if he could send Karse out where the man was calling from.

"This is him. Are you calling about the Final Fantasy seven meetings?"

"I wanted to speak with you concerning that. In person, that is."

Considering this, Seth gave a silent cheer to himself. His ploy had worked, or so far at least. Giving an unseen nod, Seth seemed to consider this, before replying, "Where then? At the Gamer's Store?"

There was a hesitance from the other side, and Seth was afraid he was going to lose this chance. Then the answer came back evenly, "Arrive there at seven tonight. I will meet you there."

Before Seth could say a word, there was a click from the other end. Letting the receiver drop into position, Seth felt a smirk spread over his face. Letting the feeling of satisfaction filter into him, he picked it up, and began dialing again.

-

* * *

-

Seated in his Cruiser, parked near the curb on the street opposite of the Gamer's Store, Karse bit into his sub as he watched Seth casually stride into the place. The door closed behind him with a flicker of his trench coat. Karse knew it would be mere minutes before the killer arrived.

Standing in the obscure corner of the store, Seth leaned carefully against the side of one of the stands of books. He cast his gaze down the aisle in the direction that his visitor would most likely come down. Seth had informed Basch of this step of the plan, and the balding man had retreated quietly into the back of the store after dismissing the customers gathered within the building.

As the minutes ticked by, Seth continued to glance at his watch. He had arrived ten minutes before seven. It was now five of. After twenty minutes passed and the man didn't appear, Basch poked his head in around the side of the back door. Peering over at Seth standing alone, he opened it wider. With one hand on the knob, he asked, "Still hasn't arrived?"

Sighing and shaking his head, Seth straightened from his stiff position. Rolling his shoulders to free them of the tension, he replied, "Nope. I'm thinking about calling it a lost cause."

"I'll let you know if anything happens."

Thanking the storeowner and bidding him farewell with the best intentions, Seth headed out of the building. Pulling his coat around him tighter, his eyes strayed to the black PT Cruiser. Waiting for a break in daily traffic, he hurried across the street. Seth's footsteps strayed as he peered into the driver window. Pressing his face against it, his suspicions were confirmed when he found it empty. Karse wasn't there. Pulling on the handle, he found it unlocked. Peering inside, he noticed the keys still in the ignition, but the car was off. Placing his hand on the heater, it warmed his palm and fingertips. He had left the car recently.

Waiting around for another twenty minutes brought no change. Checking the local stores did him no good, and Seth grew fearful and anxious for his partner. With nothing left to do, Seth headed the few blocks home. Once again, the parking lot was nearly empty – the broken lamplight still buzzing.

Stepping up the stairs one at a time – with a huff and hunched shoulders, and breathing a little heavily – Seth's mind was filled with dread. His feet came to a hard stop at the top of the stairs as the view of his door being partly opened, hit him hard. Hand straying to the gun at his side, Seth clasped the handle firmly and began to slowly withdraw it.

Inching his way towards the door, he pressed his back against it gently, peering into the shadows of his home. A faint light came from the kitchen. Pausing halfway over the threshold, Seth strained to pick up any sounds. After a couple of minutes drifted by in silence, he pushed his way slowly and surely inside – heading for the kitchen.

The refrigerator door stood ajar – the light emanating from it casting an eerie glow upon the walls and floor. Half expecting to see another cloaked figure standing behind it, Seth held the gun in both hands before him now as he stepped carefully around to peer at the front. As he drew closer to peer into the fridge's depths, his arms began to shake and his eyes widened as far as his bone structured allowed them to. Red spread over the pale white interior of the fridge was illumined brightly from the small, yellow lighting.

The clean-cut head of Bernice Yimir stared with wide eyes at her son, mouth open, frozen in a silent scream of terror.


End file.
